Bored
by Ogehsim
Summary: Shego wants to fight. Told from a semipyschotic Shego's viewpoint. Has a wierd dash of onesided DSyness.
1. Bored

Geez. I'm bored, bored, bored...

I'm always bored now. Nothing seems to be worth the effort anymore. People wonder why I stay with my boss when he's clearly incompetent. It's because I'm bored. Staying with him isn't any more or any less boring then heading off on my own. And besides, it allows me some small spark of satisfaction to mock him.

Heading off on my own... I could do that. I could take over the world. I know I could, it's far easier than anyone thinks, far easier than Drakken or any of the other villains expect. If the heroes knew how easily I could conquer their world, they wouldn't get a moment's shut-eye trying to think of ways to stop me. But I won't take over the world, and you know why? What would I do with it when I've conquered? I would just be sitting there saying: Geez. I'm bored, bored, bored... I'd probably be more bored as the ruler of the world than I am now.

The only thing that causes me some amount of satisfaction is fighting. Martial arts fighting. I enjoy causing others' pain. I don't even mind being hurt myself. In fact, I relish it. If I don't get hurt then the fight's too easy. The pain calls up the adrenaline, the pain let's you know you're still alive, the pain is throbbing but it doesn't matter because you're in a world of your own, and even though your brain is _screaming_ for you to run, you're in a world of your own, the world of fighting. I live for the fighting.

I suppose it's kind of like being a drug addict. All the addict cares about in their life is their drug. All I care about is the fighting. I'm _not_ addicted to the pain. Otherwise I'd be bleeding to death in a hospital from cutting right about now, or maybe I would have already died by now... Anyway, that's the one thing about this job; it gives me plenty of opportunities to fight. Drakken comes up with a new world domination plan about every week or two, and every time, even the time when the plan was to distribute low quality toothbrushes (don't ask), little Miss Kimmie Anne Possible shows up. Hey, she keeps me in shape. That's why I don't beat her. Who needs aerobic videos when she shows up once a week like clockwork? 'Course, don't let that give you any ideas, I beat everyone else.

I don't have anything to do today. I just filed and painted my nails yesterday, and my new issues of Villainess and Villains Times haven't come in yet. I suppose I could get some of the henchmen to fight me... what am I thinking? It's tougher fighting the dummy than those guys... Geez, I'm _so bored!!!_

I start beating the heck out of a punching bag, but this doesn't give me pleasure any more. It's a robotic movement. Over and over. High kick, spinning kick, roundhouse, right hook, left hook, side swipe, slashing, chopping, punching, kicking, more and more, my tempo gets faster and faster. All I am is a blur. I know I am, I can't even see my limbs moving, I don't even try to. Don't focus on yourself, it's the surest way to get beaten. I keep going. If I fought like this, I could easily beat Kimmie, but like I said, she's a constant source of amusement so I keep her around. Drakken would be furious to know I'm holding back, but it should be obvious: I'm a master of 38 styles of martial arts, she knows only sixteen styles of kung-fu. She hasn't mastered them. She's not a God-Knows-How-Many degree blackbelt. She's a peppy little cheerleader with an ego. I'm still kicking and punching. I light up my hands for a few brief moments, then stop and walk away, leaving the several punching bags to smolder behind me.

I need a real fight. Bar fight.

I can hold my liquor better than most guys. So I had a nice brawl, left about 20 guys with broken noses, hands, etc. Then I slammed back a few shots and headed back to the lair. Too easy.

The next day. I need a real fight. Hench Co.

Eh, took on 30 henchmen, top of their class, came at me in groups of 5. Their suits protected them from broken bones, but I know they all have concussions. I didn't even steal anything. The fight was too boring.

Next day. GJ. Beat them.

Next day. Kim's here.

So we started our little fight. She thinks she's all that, Miss Little Teen Hero. She's so smug. She thinks she can always beat me, that I'm a push-over, more reputation than results. And you know what? That makes me mad. I'm tired of having to deal with her. I'm sick and tired of _all_ of this!

I vault backwards, far quicker than Kimmie ever could. She stares at me. Ha, she didn't know I could do that. I reach for the plasma. Over the course of my childhood I had learned and disciplined myself to subconsciously confine my plasma to my hands, even when it was due to a reaction or emotion and I didn't consciously choose to call it up. But now, I release it, giving it freedom, letting my entire body be washed by the sweet touch of green flames. I can see them staring at me, Kimmie, Ron, the rat, and Drakken. None of them knew I could do this. I let a shockwave of my energy go, surrounding me a travelling outward in a transparent green orb. I make it stop so it is touching the tip of Kim's shoes. She's so shocked and scared that she doesn't move. I hold it for a moment, then pull the orb back in, and note with satisfaction that her bangs and eyebrows are singed from the intensity of the orb.

I can make two types of orbs. One travels very quickly, shoving anything and everything out of its path. The other is controlled, like the one I just did. However, I have to pour so much energy into it that an energy field extends a little way around it, and the sheer intensity of this energy is what singed Kim's hair.

She stands in shock. I extinguish my plasma, give her the device that they had come for (Drakken was still too shocked to prevent me), then picked up her and the sidekick and deposited them outside the door, before slamming it shut behind them.

I am not exhausted from the orb. I feel good. In fact, I feel much better than I have in the past couple months.


	2. Sirius

several months later

There's a new super villain. He calls himself Sirius. He's defeated Kimmie and her sidekick, my brothers, GJ, that dorky ninja school... I could go on and list the rest of the heroes he defeated, but I won't bother. The list is too long. Suffice it too say he got them all. But now he's got a vendetta against villains. He's started to come against us. Several have been killed.

This is the reason I'm mad. I have never resorted to murder_. Never_. Now, I have no love for the villains, not a shred of compassion anywhere, (yet I don't hate them. Keeping a grudge is too much work, and it's boring after the first hour), but now he's insulted me. Called me weak. Just because I haven't killed.

Killing is easy. Far, far easier than anyone realizes. And once you do it the first time, even if you didn't do it in cold blood, it becomes even easier. You'd know that if you read Agatha Christie.

I'll admit, I've worried whether my penchant and subsequent tolerance for violence would one day lead me to murder, even if if the murder was an accident or in self-defense. But I've never succumbed. I'm stronger than he is, and he will not get away with tearing me down like that.

My eyes gleam a piercing green at anticipation of the fight.

Drakken tries to convince me not to go. But he can't stop me.

He offers to raise my pay. I don't falter.

He promises to give me Iceland, not Greenland, and any other two countries of my choice. I pay no attention.

He says he loves me.

This is enough to stop my stride, but I don't look at him. I don't love him, I don't love anyone. Too many guys have hit on me for me to pay much notice to such statements, but the desperation in his voice pleads with me. How nice it might be, I think, to love rather than to fight, to be comforted rather than hurt, how nice it might be... but I love nothing but the fight.

He sees me start to leave again. He runs and grabs me and spins me to face him, kissing me. How wonderful that emotion might have been... if I had felt anything. I push him away. I see his tears, and I despise them. I never cry. To cry is to display weakness. I leave, impatient, so very impatient for the fight.

I defeat Sirius's patrols, his guards, the henchmen, then the body guards. Then I let myself be captured. The blood is pounding, coursing through my veins with a pent up ferocity. I am held in front of Sirius, he says something, but I merely spit on him.

I want to fight.

They take me to an arena. The floor is dirt, the walls high and strong. I see the spectators, cheering, jeering, hoping for my demise or at least some entertainment. I allow myself a small smile of satisfaction; entertainment they will get. I see a group in the stands, villains, captured, their demise delayed so that they may watch mine. I give them a mock salute, my sarcastic smirk plastered on to my face and I could not remove it if I tried.

First they send henchmen at me. I don't even break a sweat, the green glow nowhere to be seen. Then henchmen with weapons. Minor amusement. They are quickly dragged off to the infirmary. Wild animals. I let myself use my green power, and revel in it's touch. They are quickly tamed. I have minor injuries, a sprained finger, multiple bruises, a few scratches that are red, but do not ooze blood, but I pay them no heed.

They send more and more at me. It seems like days that I have been fighting, but my mind is still rational enough to know that it has only been hours. I feel like I am floating, my head filled with the pounding blood, and adrenaline, and the roar of the cheering. They send still more at me, I should be exhausted, but the fight only energizes me, sending me more energy, more strength, more power. I am bleeding now, but I don't care. I lick the blood off my upper lip, letting myself enjoy the taste of coppery iron and salt. My black hair is tangled, it can only get in my way now. I reach up, and slice it off with my nails, letting the mane that I had so carefully treasured and cultivated fall to the floor. The new ends of my hair brushes the tops of my shoulders.

The crowd seems to think that I am surrendering. Oh no. I am just getting started.

After the next 15 minutes I am panting slightly, but it is a good panting, not a sign of tiredness, weakness, or exhaustion, but a sign that I am actually being challenged. I have to actually try to win these fights now. I love it.

The crowd is silenced. I have defeated all of their best fighters, and everything else they have thrown at me. I will get what I want.

Sirius speaks, his voice magnified by speakers, he demands me to surrender.

I am insolent.

He pauses, his voice is amused, like a parent who is pleased and willing to tolerate a spoiled child. He asks what my terms are; he does not wish to dishonor me by merely torturing and beheading me like the other villains.

I say I want to be killed in combat by him.

My request is granted.

Everyone is silent as Sirius walks into the arena. He is tall; at least seven feet. His face is the darkest brown, almost black. His hair is black, but his eyes are violet, and he has no pupils. He wears Arab styled pants, loose, but gathered at the ankle and waist, and a loose tunic. Both are dark purple, trimmed in gold. It's as if he is a king. He is no king.

I turn my back to him, both a sign of foolish bravery and of defiance. I turn to my former peers in the crowd. I bow to them, like the master that I am, rather than the student I have pretended to be for most of my life. The fight begins.

We both hold back, testing each other. Trying to find a weakness to exploit. He is humoring me, he's seen enough of my fighting by now. Then we begin, punching, kicking, our speed ever increasing. We manage to land a hit or two, but nothing serious enough to throw us out of rhythm. I let my hands glow, and I am not without satisfaction as I draw blood on his arm. See. He is only human.

I am straining now, not quite desperate, but almost. This is a fight I can not confidently guarantee a win.

We have been fighting for nearly 20 minutes. I am breathing heavily, and I know he is too although he tried to hide it. We have both drawn blood, had bones broken, both been thrown to the ground, both stunned the crowd to silence as they feared the imminent doom of one of us, only to be disappointed. Now he is pressing me hard, driving me toward the wall, I am losing.

I spring over his head, vaulting over to the opposite side of the oval to give me some space. I find my plasma, letting in grow in power within me; waiting, waiting. He comes within an arm's length and I release it, a powerful orb. Not enough to shatter the barrier between us and the spectators, but enough to throw him against the opposite wall. I note with satisfaction that his hand has broken from the impact. I call my plasma in, sending it through my veins, through my muscle, charging myself with its power, my own power. I run so fast that there is not even a blur to see me. I punch Sirius in the face, his head clacking sharply against the wall.

Simultaneously he grabs my wrist, bringing me to a sudden halt. My head snaps forwards, from the sudden deacceleration, my forehead hitting the wall. Everything is spinning in front of me, with green spots dancing in my vision. As I try to clear my eyes, he hits me hard on my jaw and my chest. I fall to the ground, knowing a rib or two is broken. As I stand, I notice his hands are glowing an eerie pale purple. He has powers too. Stolen from my now-deceased brothers and modified to fit his means.

We go at it again. Green against purple, white against black. I am laughing wildly with the thrill of the fight. He does not understand. He thinks my mind has gradually snapped from the exertion I have been putting forth non stop for hours now. He does not understand that this is what I live for. For him, the fight is merely the means to reach the goal; he doesn't know that, for me, fighting is the goal.

We have been fighting for another 20 minutes since he revealed his powers. Our battle an hour long, my war has lasted 8 hours and I have not rested or drank. I am bleeding, and dirt mixes with the blood to form a paste that covers my face, my hair, my body. I know multiple bones are broken. Deep purple-blue-black bruises are evident where my jumpsuit has been torn away. I wish Kim Possible had been here, to see how easily I could have snapped her frail little body if I had wanted.

We charge once again, and I feel pain explode in my head. The world is nothing but pain, and as I stagger back I see him collapse to the ground. I smile grimly, I will not fall to the ground. I stand there, waiting for him to get up. The crowd is silent with anticipation, but to me, there is no difference in the silence from the cheering. All I hear is the pain and the beating of my own heart.

Thirty Seconds.

One minute.

He springs at me, hoping I'd be caught off guard. But I'm not.

I'm on the ground. My limbs at angles they were never meant to be at. My vision hazy with blood. He is standing above me, his smile smug with triumph.

"You said you wanted to die."

I look up at him, my voice hoarse, "You weren't fast enough."

He looks down in horror where a red flower is blooming on the remains of his clothes.. There is a reason I file my nails and sharpen the claws on my gloves.

He glares at me, furious that I have beaten him at his own game. He lunges at me, as if to inflict one final punishment.

But he never makes it.

He collapses, face in the dirt. A pool of blood seeps from beneath him.

The stands erupt as the villains suddenly find enough of a spine between them to fight back, some of Sirius' not-so-loyal henchmen helping. No one notices as a blue figure runs on to the arena field.

Drakken lifts my head placing it gently in his lap, tears on his cheeks. "Why?" he asks, "Why?"

He pulls off my gloves, cradling my milky white hands in his gloved ones. "I was bored," I say.

"Don't die," he's begging me, and I remember his outburst earlier.

"Bloody heck, Doctor," I say, "all I've wanted was an equal fight, a challenge." My voice is raspy and harsh, alien even to my own ears. "I got an equal fight, do you think I'll ever get a better one? This is the best time for me to die, I won't be bored anymore." He is still crying. "Did you ever think I'd die of old age in a bed?" I cough up blood. He wipes it away gently, and uses his lab coat to clean up my face, "All I've ever lived for is fighting, and I've died fighting." It is too painful to say anything more.

"You're not dead yet." The fool still holds out hope. I cannot answer him. It doesn't matter; I have nothing to say.

I remember that kiss. How wonderful it might have been, if I had any emotions to feel it with. I wonder what would've happened if I had a normal life. Gotten a normal job. Maybe married. But I'm a freak. Glowing green hands, and my pale white skin that doesn't tan or burn. I could never have a normal life. All I live for is fighting.

His hands are toying with my hair, letting the shortened strands slip through his fingers like water. The fool is so focused on me that he doesn't see or hear Sirius's second in command, a brutish bodyguard that made Schwarzenegger look like a midget, coming near. I try to speak but I can't. All I can do is leap up, despite my broken legs, tackling him, lashing out with no real sense of aim, hearing him scream, watching him fall. I fall too, the man's dark blood coating my face, hands, chest, mingling with my own blood.

I am in excruciating pain, and I feel my brain shutting down. I cough up more blood. More and more. I've lost feeling in my arms and legs. My face can not feel the Doctor's caress. I force myself to speak through the coughing, "Dang it, Doctor, watch out for your back will you? I won't always be there... to fight for you."

My world goes black, the last thing I hear are the villains yelling in success, then Dr. D. picks me up, I don't feel the pain it should have caused, and he cradles me against his chest, then nothing.

I hope he doesn't try to heal me.

All I know is that, no matter what happens, I will never be bored.

EE

Author's Note: This is a bit darker than what I usually write, so please review and tell me what you think. (Please, please, please!!!)


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